Normies
by HumanDictionary
Summary: Come join us as we travel 25-30 years after the events of the 1987 Garbage Pail Kids Movie: Dodger and Tangerine deal as single parents, Blythe and Wally pick up the pieces of their life after parole, and the less said about Juice the better. A five part work dedicated to HappyDreamLands.
1. Tangerine

"I said, do you have any clothes from back when you were a kid mom?"

Her daughter's question seemed innocuous enough; all she wanted was some clothes for the 80's themed dance the city high school was throwing in two months' time. Yet the inquiry sent Tangerine into a brief but potent catatonic spell.

She had clothes. Plenty in fact.

Once upon a time in a crappy basement, her seventeen year old self once had aspirations of conquering the fashion world in New York, or Hollywood. She would sell her creations at a nondescript dance club and bolt once she had enough money to move on to bigger and better things. Yet almost thirty years later, she had long since put aside her needle and thread and focused all her time in being a single mother living in a suburb on the outskirts of said city with a fifteen year old daughter of her own.

"Uh, mom." The daughter replied snapping her fingers in an effort to regain her attention.

"Oh, yes Rosa. Yes I do, follow me."

Through the years, Tangerine had tried to forget that chapter of her life. But with each step up the attic stairs, the years of work she had done in trying to forget the events of her youth undid themselves. The crushing final blow came when she came upon the dusty tarp tucked in the corner of her attic. The plastic sheet was removed, uncovering a dozen or so boxes of clothes Tangerine had sewn as a teenager. It all came back to her in a flash: her entire relationship with Juice and his goon squad, her 'bad attitude' to paraphrase a random customer from the dance club, the disastrous launch of her label at McBundy's, and a lovesick teenage boy working in an antique shop that befriended seven wastebasket-dwelling urchins who sewed clothes.

She made a lot of ugly choices in her quest to be the next big thing in fashion. But despite it all, she couldn't just ditch the clothes, she worked too hard on many of them.

"Wow. Where did you get those clothes?" Rosa squealed.

"I made them."

"What?"

"I made them."

"You made these?"

"Are you just going to repeat what I say or help me bring these down?"

Hauling the boxes down the attic stairs took less time than Tangerine thought. With her daughter's help and enthusiasm, the work got done in a timely manner. The two of them excitedly/nostalgically pawed through each carton's treasures (surprisingly well preserved given the time up in the attic), with the younger of them musing over which of her friends would look the best in this or that piece

"Honey," Tangerine said. "I don't mind you being generous with my creations. They've been sitting in the attic all this time, it's not like I'd miss them. But all I ask is pick something for _yourself_ before divvying everything up."

"Of course I am!" Rosa responded incredulously. "I just haven't found anything yet that I…"

She stopped suddenly as from the corner of her eye, the girl came upon matching set plastered with assorted roadway signs that appeared to fit her like a glove. As Rosa examined herself in the mirror, she gathered up a fistful of accessories and began to try and match them with her new outfit.

"Mom, which bow looks better with this?" Rosa said once her collection had been whittled down to a fistful of bows.

"The yellow one." Tangerine replied giving a small smile.

As Rosa returned to preening in the mirror, her mother marveled and got lost in how much she and her daughter could've easily passed as twins back in the day. After taking a selfie and posting it to her assorted social media accounts, Rosa messaged some of her friends about her mom's haul. Sure enough, within the hour seven other girls showed up at the house.

"Girl, you look on fleek!"

"Damn!"

"Seriously, take a Selfie in that. With me this time."

"With all of us."

"Mrs. T, I didn't know you made clothes."

And so went the afternoon as the girls peeled open each box at breakneck speed like kids at Christmas. Clothes were pawed through, tried on, and accepted/rejected as each girl saw fit. Tangerine implored the girls to enjoy themselves as article of clothing they took was one less she had to put back and store away for goodness knew how much longer. In time, each girl left taking a couple more outfits with them so that friends who couldn't be there could have one. The once imposing collection had been reduced to four and a half boxes, one of which still remained unmolested.

"Hey mom," Rosa said. "We never got around to opening up this one."

Tangerine's eyes widened as she saw a faint red Sharpie 'X' on the corner.

"Rosa!" She began sharply while snatching the parcel into her arms. "I…did you ever hear the story of Pandora's Box?"

"Is that anything like Spotify?"

"According to legend," Tangerine replied shaking her head. "All the troubles of the world were once squeezed away into this box until some nosy little girl called Pandora released them. Let's just say the same principle applies here."

Later that night, with the door shut, the light on and the assurance of her daughter as a sound sleeper, Tangerine crept back up to the attic and proceeded to open the box as if she was peeling away her skin. Inside were not additional textile treasures, but lots of spiral-bound notebooks marked with **Fashion Career** on the cover in bold marker. Tucked away in the pages were a large assortment of photos, flyers, and newspaper clippings. For nearly fifteen years, Tangerine had done all she could to keep her adolescence/early adulthood as much a secret as possible. This box in particular were the pieces of a puzzle were there. And allowing Rosa to pry through it would give her permission to put them together.

Tangerine's journals spanned two years for the most part (1985-1987) with scattered entries up to about 1991. Most of them were inventories of the stuff she sold at various dance clubs with little biographical drabbles and milestones here and there. A larger narrative began to emerge sometime around the spring of 1986 when she met some small-time dope dealer/thug named Juice and his two-body posse. As much as she found herself swelling with equal parts pity and amusement with some other local boy named Dodger and his comparatively juvenile attempts to woo her with crap from the curio shop he worked and lived at, Juice had the club connections and means to get her to the top. A sentiment that often reared its ugly head when she came to learn that Dodger was Juice's primary punching bag and justified her silence on the matter.

 _Mon. 6/8/1987- Another day with Juice and the Gang in the park, and of course he's got to pick on Dodger. I'm not going to defend the kid, or pretend that it's just a damn coincidence that he and I always seem to cross paths, but I still can't see why he is incapable of leaving the kid alone. Today he had Wally toss him into a puddle for two dollars. TWO FRIGGING' DOLLARS. You're this badass drug dealer, chasing down a kid in broad daylight for chump change._

 _Sat. 6/13/1987- Give you one guess who tagged along to Club Ultraviolet with me to sell clothes yesterday? As much as I want to give Dodger points for tenacity, I just wish he'd take a hint that even if I did like him, it still wouldn't work out because it would give Juice even more reason to blow his lid. Then again, if the kid can still follow me around after being tossed under a sewer pipe and left to bathe in its contents, I guess he'll never learn. He was lucky though. Juice had the last guy that asked me for directions (yes, you heard right) tossed in cement that was later poured into the East side of the highway. Dodger only got a sewage bath for sniffing my hair and giving me a random pin. Anyway, I ended the night with $600 more than I did and passed a new milestone in literally selling the shirt of my back. I can't begin to imagine the hell for poor Dodger in seeing my body in that light. Everything seemed to go good until Juice showed up and took every cent I made. P.S. how the kid managed to squeeze himself in that duffel bag when Juice showed up was pretty ingenious._

 _Tue. 6/23/1987- Maybe I've been going about this whole fashion thing the wrong way. It's been almost two years since I moved here and I kind of have to wonder what I gain anymore with Juice on my side. Yeah, I get his assurance that club owners aren't going to bug me for soliciting, but not much else. On top of the fact that he's abusive, a 40% cut of what I make goes to him and the gang and I retain enough to get by._

 _Then there's Dodger. Poor, puppy-eyed Dodger._

 _Right after Juice left, he came in wearing this really impressive coat and claims to have more clothes he's willing to sell along with mine (or at least try to). I want to humor him but the jacket is just breathtaking. As an added bonus, he doesn't have a label! A couple Fridays with him and my dream of looking at this dump from the rearview mirror just might be a reality by Christmas. Hell, I'm sure he'd fork over his cut from the night if I sweet-talk him enough. As it was the kid damn near creamed his pants when I told him how the jacket made him look sixteen._

Sure enough, tucked in the journal by the passage was a photo of Dodger clad in a coat that clearly looks like it had been designed for some band camp's tribute to Michael Jackson. Tangerine's thoughts turn to the day she did a double take upon meeting Dawkins, a kid from Rosa's class that agreed to be her study-buddy. He was almost the spitting image of Dodger, save for crew cut and deep mahogany covered hair that fell over his head like a mop when it grew out (unlike (Dodger's full head of dirty blonde hair). That aside, the resemblance was all too uncanny. Come to think of it, Dawkins even mentioned something about a family owned thrift store in the city.

 _I told him we'll make our move on Friday, Club Ultraviolet again (I seem to have a following there more than anywhere else). Wish me luck._

Tangerine flips the page and finds a flier advertising a fashion show that July. Her eyes begin to tear up as they come upon a tangerine shaped logo with a green banner bearing her name. The image takes up a good portion of the paper along with a brief blurb about the details of her line. Behind that is another passage.

 _Tue. 7/7/1987- Busy couple of weeks since last entry, here's what's happened._

 _Tonight is my debut showing at the McBundy's department store. It's the biggest clothing retailer in the state. The owner even said that depending on how well my showing goes, they will carry my label. From there, who can tell what the future holds for me; Milan, London, New York. This is the show that will make me a star. All I need is anywhere between 500-1000 outfits to be modeled. Between Dodger and I this should be cake._

 _Which leads us to the second major development; it turns out that Dodger didn't make the clothes, but instead left that job to these ugly cretins he's had cooped up in the antique store. I am at a loss for words as to how skin-crawlingly repulsive and nauseating these little brats are; one has a fetish for eating toes, the baby-looking one has roadkill breath (and even that's way too generous), Snotty and Pukey (yes they have names but do I really care?) have the audacity to desire modeling my wares, and if I see Zit-Boy piss himself one more time… Yet, some cosmic force has blessed them with the talent for sewing these really awesome clothes. Dodger seems to have built some rapport with these hellions but he's still a thirteen year old boy; a nip on the ear or a caress of my finger and his loyalties to them are ashes._

 _Juice on the other hand, can't be placated that easily._

 _The kids made enough clothes for me now, but let's face it, down the road they're a liability. Sweat-shops don't exactly endear customers, no matter how ugly the kids who work there are in real life. I told him where Dodger keeps the kids cooped up and that the State Home for the Ugly would be more than glad to pay a king's ransom for their capture. Whatever loot those three get should (literally) buy me time to make it big and move on before anyone knows it._

Before Tangerine knew it, the little alarm on her phone began to beep. She jumps up, coming to grips with the fact that she did indeed crash and fall asleep in the attic. It's almost 7am. She hastily shoved everything back in the box and crept down the stairs. From the threshold of the attic door she peers around to the teensy space that Rosa called her closet and sees that she begins to stir but shifts and falls back asleep. After a sigh of relief, Tangerine takes one last step

*CREAK*

Rosa stirs to see her mother coming down the steps of the attic and quizzically looks up at her.

"Mom what the-"

"Rosa!" She said quickly. "I'm sorry. It's just that…when you get older, and you've held on to something for so long, like almost a lifetime. It feels weird once it's gone. You'll get it one day."

"Oh. Alright." she said shrugging her mother's sheepishness off.

The day went on as normal, with Rosa going to school and meeting up with friends to see a movie afterwards while Tangerine ran her daily errands. Ultimately, both women dismissed what happened last night as just a weird feeling of relief over getting rid of clutter and discussed no further. Later that afternoon however, Tangerine went back into the attic to reorganize the box's contents. The first thing her eyes came upon as she looked at the pile in the box was her diary, the page it opened too contained a passage from later that fall, late November to be exact. Underneath one entry was a clipping from the local paper's News in Brief section that had long since yellowed with age. Tangerine's face curled into a sneer as she looked at the modest photograph next to the article: a scowling young man in his early twenties clad in a brown blazer, neon mesh wife beater and Wayfarer sunglasses being escorted into court.


	2. Juice

Page 6. November 21st, 1987 Eastern Sentinel

 **Local Thug Confirmed as Victim of Prison Bludgeoning**

Authorities from the county's correctional facility have released the name of a prisoner savagely murdered nearly two weeks ago. Fingerprints from the victim were matched to Julius Royce, a local hoodlum, taken from his arrest earlier that summer.

The twenty-seven year old Royce was found dead on the morning of November 10th after an attack in the showers of the prison gym. According to the coroner's report, he sustained a wide variety of severe injuries which included but weren't limited to multiple skull fractures, ruptured kidneys and the dislocation of his right eye. Further tests showed that he was forced to swallow a lethal cocktail of cleaning chemicals as well.

According to what little footage was obtained from the security cameras, the murder was carried out by seven individuals of short stature wearing trench coats, black berets, and sunglasses who used a night guard's negligence to break into the gym before one used his breath to melt the lenses. At press time, the only clue to their whereabouts lie in ATV tracks heading westward from the prison's dirt road and ending on the Westside Highway.

Royce, who was known by his street name of "Juice", was awaiting trial for a long list of charges including assault and battery, drug trafficking, theft, and loitering. His arrest came via a tip from a local woman who witnessed his presence hours after a disturbance that had occurred at a fashion exhibition at McBundy's Department store four months ago. The arrest lead to the surrender of his cohorts Wally Carrington (18) and Blythe Thompson (25) shortly thereafter. All three of their trials were set to start next February.


	3. Wally

"They couldn't go back to the Greasers, the best they could do was pick up the pieces. We always knew they would both find a way to get by."

-Billy Joel (1977)

 ** _(Flashback: 1998)_**

 _A parole board looks over the cases of Wally Carrington and Blythe Thompson. Two prisoners at the county's correctional facility. Both were former associates/heavies of a local hoodlum arrested and murdered 11 years ago for a string of charges ranging from petty larceny to drug trafficking. After his death, they turned themselves in. In exchange for a lesser sentence, they plead guilty to their roles and sang like canaries; spilling the beans about his operation (such as it was) and shedding new light on two cold-cases where the victims were found stuffed in concrete machines used in constructing the state's highway. Ultimately the judge handed down a sentence of 35 years for the two of them with the possibility of parole. Once in jail, Wally got involved with prison ministries and the books for the blind program, while Blythe proved herself an asset on various chain gangs. If Webster needed a picture to define 'model prisoners', the two of them were it._

 _While usually the more stone faced of the two, Wally breaks down a bit as parole is granted. Blythe wants to tell him to calm down but she too is overcome with relief. They're handed their belongings from the arrest; key's to Juice's apartment and van, their cuts of the money from selling the kids off and the "Tarzan meets Grease" clothes they were arrested in all those years ago._

 _The two settled down in a modest apartment in the city they once called their stomping grounds, a couple of blocks between what once was Manzini's Antiques and a Russian Orthodox Church that used to be Club Ultraviolet. Immediately, they got to work putting together the pieces of being productive members of society, looking for jobs working with at-risk adolescents in hopes that their history with Juice could deter kids from following in their footsteps. In time, Blythe was hired as a basketball coach and youth mentor/engagement specialist at the local community center while Wally became involved with the abovementioned church and ultimately was found worthy to be_ _tonsured a Reader. With the help of a fellow parishioner, he took on work as a high school guidance counselor._

(Present Day)

"…98…99…100!"

Wally drops the barbell to the ground, savoring the reverberations from the clang upon its descent. After emitting a satisfied roar to nobody in particular, he takes off the weight plates and sets them back, but not before catching a brief glance at himself in the mirror. His hair had begun to go grey a long time ago in prison so he opted for the Kojack look once freed. Other than that and a couple of wrinkles, age had treated him fairly enough.

Suddenly, Wally's phone began to hum and beep, cutting into his thoughts. A notification popped up from Blythe reading that dinner would be leftovers or fending because she'd been asked to be the substitute speaker for another youth seminar on the dangers of delinquency. He responds 'do what you gotta, see you at home.' with a heart next to it before beginning the walk home. Looking at his clock, he lets out a brief curse as he realizes he has ten minutes before his appointment with his boss. With all the speed he can muster, Wally bolts across the gym and down the hall to the Principal's office.

"SorryI'mlatesir." He wheezes. "Workout…lost…time…"

"That's ok." The principal replies. "I was tied up with some loose ends myself. Glad you could stay back for a bit."

"Your email said this was urgent. What do you need?"

"I'll cut to the chase." Said the principal. "We got the Winter Ball coming up on the 6th and I need some chaperones. Nothing heavy duty, just to make sure nobody tries anything stupid-

"-And you're asking me because nobody else wanted to touch the task with a ten foot pole."

"Well, yeah. That and you seem to have a certain…pull with the kids. Even the troublemakers. They'll listen to you and your wife."

"My wife?"

"Yes, the dance is being held at the town community center. So we assumed that you'd both be present. Unless you had plans."

"Not really but, I still want to check with her you know."

"Ah, Gotcha." He said. "You have my home number so, let me know tomorrow if you can."

The ten block stroll between Ashbridge Street High and the apartment he and Blythe called home always bought him peace from a hard day's work. But every now and then, something would catch his eye, triggering a nostalgic ping of depression. Today, it was the grand opening of some fast-casual Mexican place that set up shop in the derelict storefront where The Toughest Bar in the World once stood.

"Someone finally bought it." He sighed to himself.

 _ **(Flashback: 1998)**_

 _While the couple relished their release, as conditional as it was, it didn't change the feeling of depression and loss that comes with returning to a place that is no longer your own; a quarter of the city got gentrified yet rent prices rose all over, kids were listening to this weird thing called Gangsta Rap, portable phones got smaller and hairspray went the way of the dinosaurs._

 _Then came the local changes. Tangerine moved out years ago, Ultraviolet went bust-o as the Club Kids declined and dissipated, Manzini's Antiques re-branded, and the movie theater became a Greek diner. But of all of the changes, seeing The Toughest Bar in the World closing seemed like the final straw for the two of them. That night over a shared platter at the aforementioned, diner they held a two-party repast for…just about everything._

" _You're staring off into space." Blythe sighed. "Something wrong?"_

 _Wally sighed._

" _Remember when we met there, the Toughest Bar?"_

" _How could I forget?" She said with a nostalgic smile. "It was a fortnight after they expelled me for throwing the boarding school's disciplinarian down six flights of steps. Cousin Juice was the only person I knew in the area and I knew he was looking to build up some gang. The Toughest Bar in the World was a fitting rendezvous."_

 _She chuckled._

" _I could tell you were pretty impressed with what you saw." Blythe continued with a sly wink that made Wally blush._

" _Could you blame me?" He stammered. "You were clad in this black leggings knee-high boots, and a sleeveless zebra colored tee, standing triumphantly over this terrified biker bent over the billiards table for how'd you put it, 'sizing me up like a sirloin the minute I walked in here.' I must confess, I melted when you said those words."_

" _Play grab-ass, you're crab grass!"_

 _In reminiscing, Wally and Blythe became lost in their own world. A direct but friendly visit from the manager reminding them about their volume bought the two of them sheepishly back to earth. For some time they sat in awkward silence before Wally cleared his throat._

" _Now…with the bar closed it's really underscored just how much we are all we got now." Wally responded gesturing between him and her. "It's like we're looking at this long dark corridor because we made all these bad decisions and…well, there's nobody I'd rather walk down it with than you."_

(Present Day)

Wally looked at the calendar when he got home and sighed sadly after writing "Winter Ball" under Friday December 6. As much as he tried to hide it from his boss, the night of the dance was their wedding anniversary. It wasn't like Blythe and Wally stopped loving each other, but some days he just wished that their life as man and wife had more special moments in it. But in all the years he knew her, married or not, Blythe never seemed to be interested in that stuff anyway.

It's 7:30 when Blythe comes home from her lecture. Like her husband, she too has also found herself on aging's good side. Her hair hasn't been teased in years and instead is neatly held back in a ponytail and sweatband. A subtle wire-framed pair of glasses also adorns her face. She sighs and shakes her head with a chuckle upon seeing dinner. Wally had set up a candle-lit dinner for two that didn't seem all that romantic when the wax was reduced to puddles. Still, she kisses her husband and proceeds to enjoy the meat loaf and salad laid before her.

"So your boss sent me a message that there's a certain dance coming up on the 6th." She says as the last of her salad is finished.

"Yeah, I mean, unless you-"

"Oh I'm cool with it." She said. "Besides, if not us who else?"

"That's true."

"So let your boss know that the Carringtons will be at that dance."

"You're sure? Ok."

With the dishes washed and appetites satiated, the evening is spent cuddled on the couch watching reruns of Law and Order SVU. It's almost 8:50 by the time Blythe is out. Wally covers her and shuts the TV and lamp off before heading to the kitchen. He pulls out his cellphone and calls his boss.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mr. S. It's Wally. Sorry to call so late but about the dance, Blythe said yes to being chaperone so consider us in."

"Oh, Hey Wally. Thanks!" The principal sighed in relief. "You could have waited till tomorrow."

"I just wanted to let you know as soon as possible." Wally said. "Will there be anything else to go over?"

"We'll go over more stuff as the week progresses. See you tomorrow."

"Bye."

Wally looks back at his wife and has an idea. Once again, he dials some numbers on his phone and waits as the other line rings.


	4. Blythe

**AN: language and date-rape references ahead, you've been warned.**

The Community Center is abuzz on the night of the dance. A couple other people were tapped to give of their time and talents to keeping the night running smoothly, but the Carringtons were the real rule enforcers as far as anyone was concerned. In the corner of the gym stands Blythe, the feminine half of the night's dynamic disciplinary duo. While sipping a cup of orange juice and listening to Dan Hartman's _I Can Dream about You_ , she can't help but feel slightly detached from the revelry.

 ** _(Flashback: 1998)_**

" _It's like we're looking at this long dark corridor because we made all these bad decisions and…well, there's nobody I'd rather walk down it with than you."_

 _Before Blythe had a chance to respond, Wally roused himself. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a plastic toy capsule like one would get from a gumball machine containing a cheap ring. He got down on his knee, returning themselves to the center of the restaurant's attention. Several gasps and coos broke out and the entire eatery came to a standstill as Wally brandished the ring before Blythe asking for her hand in marriage._

 _To the outsider, it all seemed romantic; but Wally and Blythe had an understanding that there was an air of convenience to their union. Yes their love was mutual and strong enough to survive incarceration. But as far as the poofy-white-dress, service-on-the-beach-at-sunset, sweep-you-off your feet, stuff was concerned, a) that wasn't their style to begin with and b) even if it was they were in no real position for that. Both knew that when the chips were down marrying each other was, in Juice's words a matter of principle._

 _Nonetheless, she accepts._

(Present Day)

It wasn't like Blythe's outlook changed all that much over the years.

It didn't bug her that the one photo of them as man and wife was beside a cold and monumental city hall edifice.

She had no regrets that their wedding attire came from a thrift store and cost in total about as much as a kid's meal any given fast food joint.

Their marriage license was just as valid under the fluorescent lights of Room 822 of the city clerk's office as it was in any cozy chapel.

Still though, if she were asked what she was doing special for her anniversary, the last answer she wished to give was at the community center (formerly known as the State Home for the Ugly) filling the role of 'Aunt B.' the tough-but-fair mother hen; strolling the floor, taking mental measurements between the gyrating hips of those she served in loco parentis, ready to pounce at the first sight of a frisky date.

It was on one of these patrols that Blythe notices one group of girls in a series of vaguely familiar clothes: Mimi's blue-leopard leotard, Miranda's green form-fitting evening dress and Amber's guava butter toned bustier with jeweled accents. It isn't until she gets to Rosa's traffic sign outfit that it all comes back to her.

"Holy…" she whispers to herself while grabbing her phone in a frenzy and taking a few snapshots which she promptly sends with a text to Wally. Just as she turns around to get back to her duty, a commotion is heard from their table.

"Blake!" Rosa squeals. "What the hell?"

"What."

"I saw you drop something in my drink. And Amber's too!"

She knocked her drink over, but her hand was caught by Blake as she attempted to do the same for the other glass.

"Yeah well, what's wrong with a little assurance?"

"'Assurance'?"

"You think I wanted to come tonight and be at this stupid dance?" Blake whispered venomously. "No booze? Pricey tickets? All this godawful music? That fuckin' dyke from the black lagoon and her loser husband playing mommy and daddy? Not to mention how hard I worked on this costume for you-"

"Right" Rosa replied sarcastically. "An orange tuxedo tee from Spencer's Gifts and an inflatable joystick near your crotch _totally_ constitutes a whole lot of effort."

"I deserve a little something in return for your good time." Blake sneered as he began to peel Rosa's outfit from her shoulder. "And I'm sure as shit not letting you wimp out on it either."

Before Rosa could scream for help, a pair of hands clamped down on her date's shoulders.

"Don't. Even. _Think_. About it." Blythe snarled at the boy.

Blake slowly turned around, for a moment all the color draining from his skin as he turned to face Blythe staring him down like a very irate bull. Upon regaining his composure, he begins to bluff.

"Get your meat mittens off me or I swear to Christ I'll-"

"Kid." She replied with a quiet voice full of thunder. "I've fought five year olds tougher than you for Halloween candy. At your age I lifted manhole covers for kicks. So let's just leave without doing anything stupid ok?"

"You think this 'I used to be in a gang' shit frightens me?" Blake said. "Maybe I can't take you on my own, but just wait 'til my boys show up; five of us, one of you. Drop you so hard your cracks will leave cracks in the pavement."

Wordlessly, Blythe pulls an unopened soda can from the table and tears it in half with her teeth. To further bring Rosa's date back to earth, she pours Amber's tainted drink all across his shirt

"You might want to change boy. And it's more than just your clothes I'm talking about."

Blake slinks out of the community center gymnasium before the situation worsened, casting daggers with his eyes the whole time. As the back door slams shut Rosa finally finds the means to thank 'Aunt B.'.

"It's what I'm here for." She says. "We girls gotta take care of each other…"

She shoots a glance at Wally who chats with the deejay as a small line at the mock-tail bar begins to form.

"…cause sometimes the guys will forget to."

"Hey, I know you're busy being mom tonight and all," Rosa began. "But can we talk?"

"Ok Hon." Blythe said. "Wait for me by the vending machine near my office. If I can't get someone to fill in here in ten minutes can it wait until tomorrow?"

"Que sera sera, but it is important." Said Rosa before making her way to the doors.

It took Blythe six minutes to find someone that would fill in for her, upon doing so she quietly exited the festivities and made her way over to Rosa who sat on the bench and had helped herself to a small bag of sour cream and onion potato chips.

"I must be the stupidest person in the world." Rosa said as Blythe stopped by the bench.

"Oh honey, why would you say that?"

"Because I knew what he was, and I still went out with him." Rosa muttered. "UGH, but my friends…just wouldn't shut up. I love them, but ever since we got to high school all they ever talk about is boys, dating, sex and heartbreak. They meet some guy think it's forever, then swear vows of chastity when things go south, only for the cycle to repeat itself when the next cute guy so much as coughs at their direction."

"Well, they're not alone if that helps." Blythe said. "I'm sure you saw the super embarrassing puberty movie with the middle aged professor saying how this is 'sPEcIal TimE in a LiTTlE GiRl's LiFe', 'bUddiNG WoMAnhOOd', 'HOrmOneS', and blah-bitty bloo."

Rosa nodded with a chuckle. Blythe's assessment was eerily spot on. But she continued.

"I'm fifteen years old and I have no interest in dating, or guys, or even girls. And tonight, I kinda realized something waiting for you."

"And what might that be?" The older of the two women asked while joining her on the bench.

"Everyone seems to have something to gain from me dating, except me." Rosa said. "Let's start with Amber and Jada and their entire mental backlog of double dating opportunities. Then there's my mom who has turned 'someday you'll have a husband' into her favorite go-to line for me to pull my weight around the house. And of course, the guys seem to think that dating=sex on demand so let's add that to the list.

Rosa sighs.

"My gut told me Blake was a scuzzball and yet…ugh! I just wanted to have a good time, with my friends. But they all just disappeared up their asses with finding dates that I just swallowed my convictions and went with the creep."

"Mmm." Blythe responded with a nod. "Classic case of peer pressure. Well, unlike drugs or drinking or even gangs, I think your friends' hearts were in the right place but not so much their brains. I'll say this though: you were lucky to have caught him putting that junk in your drink."

"Yeah," she said slowly.

"It was smart of you to knock the drink over." Blythe said.

"That's true."

"See, you're not stupid. And nor are your friends. None of them ever considered that Blake would pull something like that. Hell, I'm sure they're wondering where you are right now."

"Let 'em wonder for a while." Rosa said with a smile.

"That's the spirit," Blythe said patting her on the shoulder. "You do you as the kids these days say."

The two women rose themselves from the bench and slowly made their way back to the gymnasium.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you Rosa." Blythe said. "I like your outfit."

"Thanks." Rosa replied. "My mom made it, all those years ago."

"Oh yes, I know." Blythe replied to herself quietly.

 **(Across the Gym)**

Wally's cellphone buzzes and blips as he puts the finishing touches on a _Cuddles on the Beach_ for a guy dressed up as the Iron Sheik. To ensure no funny business with the drinks, he was given responsibility of the mock-tails bar which had been set up in lieu of a punch bowl. Once the last customer is served, Wally looks at the message his wife has sent and promptly does a double take over the photo.

 _ **B: Does something seem familiar about some of these outfits. Or the one girl on the far left?**_

 _ **W: :O Either Tangerine had a kid or this is the world's most astounding coincidence.**_

"Ahem."

Wally looks up from his phone to see a lanky unassuming kid standing at the table. His attire consists of a glittering jacket/bow tie combo, skinny jeans, a hat with the image of a melting Rubik's Cube, and a deep purple t-shirt bearing an image of the Whitesnake album _Lovehunter_.

"Oh, hey! What'll it be kid?"

"Grape juice and ginger ale."

"Coming right up."

Wally watched as the kid sauntered back to his space by the bleachers. If eyes were daggers, he was a one man knife-throwing act. This scene would play out twice more before Wally decided to reach out.

"So, um…"

"Dawkins. Dawkins Newley."

"Oh, Dawkins, yeah. Didn't recognize you with the hat. You having a good time tonight?"

Dawkins wanted to say yes. He felt the word dancing on the tip of his tongue; instead, with a despondent sigh that seemed to deflate him he shrugged and told the counselor, "I'm out of the house for the night. So I guess that is a plus."

"Yeah but, wasn't there that girl Melissa you were tutoring in A.P. Bi…oh."

The look on Dawkins' face said it all. Wally let out a comprehensive grunt. He knew where this was going. The girl wanted a passing grade while he wanted a date, but only one walked away from the deal getting what they wanted in the end.

"I'm so sorry man." Wally sighed. "And I knew you were so happy that she said yes. I'll give you this; you're taking it a lot better than most guys would, of whom I am first."

"What else can you do?" Dawkins replied. "I'm not the first guy in history to be stood up to a dance. And all things considered, I'm having a pretty good time. I like 80's music so if I had to be stood up somewhere, this is it."

"See, good approach."

"Still though." Dawkins continued despondently while gesturing for a refill. "I'm just tired of it all. Women either look at me as a sucker they can get laughs out of, or some sexist monster one rejection away from torching the school. But it isn't true. I just…just…"

"Burnt out and a bit cynical." Wally replied after pouring himself a seltzer. "Look, I know you. You're not a monster, you've just had a lot of hurt at school, and while the coincidental common denominator appears to be women-"

"It isn't just school." Dawkins went on. "I told you about Mom leaving the way she did before I was barely five. She didn't say a word, or leave a note or anything. After that my dad just threw himself into working at the thrift store. Because of his funk; girls, sex, and relationships were just something we never really talked about."

Wally nodded as he began to think back about Dawkins' dad and what an awkward mess _he_ was back in the day with Tangerine. But then again, could you blame Dodger when your social circle was the neighborhood bullies and a misanthropic magician who ran a curio shop?

"Mhm." He said after giving it thought. "You know, I'm gonna level with you. I never thought I'd never meet Blythe. I had my share of women troubles, only unlike you I was a complete ass to them and that got me into trouble. That trouble lead to Juice which lead to Blythe. I took my time with her and one day we just mutually realized we had something. So my advice is just keep enjoying yourself like you have been and let the night unfold. Life's not some John Hughes horseshit kind of world where the girl of your dreams is just going to walk through that door, so swallow your pride a bit and have this night for yourself. That help?"

"Yeah, it did." Dawkins said with a smile. "I needed to hear that thanks."

"Oh and kid," Wally called out as Dawkins turned towards the dance floor. "One last thing."

"Mmm?"

"Don't hate your dad," Wally said. "But realize that you aren't him. Your life and the choices therein are yours for good or for bad. Take his attitude with a grain of salt. Now go have some fun."

Just as Dawkins begun to dance. Rosa and Blythe returned from _their_ heart to heart. From their respective vantage points, the husband and wife watched as the two teenagers awkwardly, separately, dance by the edge of the crowd. Suddenly one of the party-goers knocked Rosa over in a rush to get to the bathroom, sending her spinning and falling at Dawkins' feet.

"Oof!" He shouted. "Oh. Rosa. Are you ok?"

"Up till spinning around like that I've been…better." She said. "So, your date with Melissa?"

"Your date with Blake?" Dawkins responded.

Both stood silently for what felt like eons until the deejay threw on an obscure but upbeat little ditty. Some of the kids were a bit thrown off by the choice, and voiced their displeasure that it cut into the playlist of Madonna, Journey, and Bon Jovi songs they knew all too well. By contrast, the boy and the girl shared a flash across their eyes as a woman's voice boomed though the speakers.

 _If there is a way to win your heart, tell me now._ _Show me where to start_ _  
_ _Cause there's not a thing I wouldn't do, for the chance to belong to you_

"You know this song?" Dawkins gawked.

"Are you kidding, my mom and I _LOVE_ Debbie Lytton." She squealed in reply. "Oh my god, I thought she and I were the only people on earth who heard of her."

"Nah, my dad plays her stuff every now and then at the store." Dawkins chuckled. "Um…do you want to…oh, I don't know…?"

"Yes Dawkins." She replied taking his hand. "I would like to have this dance."

By 10:55, the dance had begun to wind down and only a handful of stragglers loitered in the hallway waiting for their rides. Wally had just finished tossing away the last bag of emptied out bottles and handing out whatever sodas weren't used to the kids as they left. He comes in to see his wife sipping another Orange juice and talking with another one of the women on cleanup duty. Once there is a lull in their conversation, he sneaks up near her and starts to tenderly caress her ankle.

"Ooh, a foot rub." Blythe said snarkily. "It wouldn't happen to be a special occasion now, wouldn't it?"

Wally sighs.

"Look, Blythe. I can-"

"Wally," The woman said cutting her husband off. "Do you love me?"

"What kind of question is that?" Wally replied. "I married you didn't I? We stood by each other through jail, hell we were in a gang together-"

"See that's the thing." She replied. "Everything's changing, and some days I look in the mirror and think that we aren't changing with it. Neither of us are getting any younger, but we're still living in a crappy apartment paying day in and day out for all the shit we did as kids, and I…do you ever think about the day we met at the Toughest Bar in the World? Because I do. It wasn't just the day Cousin Juice and I met up because his outfit needed some muscle, but it was the first day I felt that feeling."

"That feeling?"

"That mushy, mutual, butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling you and the one you love meet for the first time. As a little girl always heard about it but never felt it. In time I assumed that it was because I was too tough or too ugly for a guy to feel that with me. Until that night at the Toughest Bar…"

 ** _(Wally Flashback 1981)_**

 _As Juice and I finally reached the threshold of the TBITW, Blythe had just finished beating up this loser who had been bugging her all night. As she rhetorically barked out who was next (a response met with averted eyes) he nonchalantly applauded, I was just stunned. By no means was Blythe Thompson any conventional definition of beautiful, but something about her had me transfixed._

 _I always thought that crooked smile on her face as she flipped her hair back and looked at the two of us was just an illusion. I always thought that the twinkle in her eye was just an illusion. I try to shake her hand but keeping my admiration at bay proves a challenge._

" _I guess ya like what you're seeing." She replies with a giggle. "Well, don't get any stupid ideas. You might be a lot chummier with Juice than I, but cousins come first."_

 _The rest of the night is a lot more relaxed, granted alcohol will do that to you. Blythe sets a record for number of Tequila worms ingested while I decide to set my clock to Miller time. We carve the date into the pool table, August 1, 1981 and promised that day would always be ours._

"…then the day you just kissed me…"

 ** _(Wally Flashback 1987)_**

 _Juice has us shadow Tangerine at Club Ultraviolet. We watch her stand brazenly under the 'No Soliciting' sign bartering her latest batch of creations. Suddenly this bitch comes up and starts giving Tangerine some guff about the pricing of her clothes. Apparently a one of her outfits was too pricey for her budget but she just had to have it. It gets loud so we roll in._

" _How about you either sell me the dress or I tell the owner you're here loitering."_

 _Before I know it, Blythe begins to stroll over to the scene and takes her place behind Tangerine with her arms folded over her chest. Her lips purse into a defiant puss as Tangerine begins to chuckle brazenly._

" _Look honey. The owner has a special arrangement with my friend here. So I'm going to tell you one last time to bug off."_

" _Oh shit, it's Queen Kong." The customer replies snarkily. "I suppose hurling a banana isn't going to throw you off, but this is between us_ _girls_ _and doesn't concern you. So how about you and gay Tarzan back there go back to blowing each other behind the dumpster. 'K? Thanks."_

 _Without blinking, Blythe grabs her arm and begins pinning her to Tangerine's car._

" _Paws off me She-Hulk!" She shouts to Blythe._

" _Your call."_

 _Blythe honors her request with a toss into the nearby wall. The girl staggers upward, bleeding from her mouth cackling and pointing at Tangerine incoherently mumbling all the way. Blythe laughs triumphantly at the spectacle, but the silent tears begin_ _once she's back by the door_ _._

" _It gets old." She says after I ask her what was wrong. "It gets so old, and so tired, but it still hurts."_

" _What?"_

"' _She Hulk', 'Queen Kong', 'ape-lady', the list goes on." She says as her voice cracks. "I've heard these since I was thirteen and they still sting."_

 _She falls into my chest and begins to sob._

" _I just wish I was beautiful to someone."_

 _The song in the club has finished. There's a break as the deejay announces an exclusive new song will be playing. I look down at Blythe who has calmed down considerably. Taking advantage of her last comment and the proximity of her cheek to me, I gently lean in and kiss her. Slowly she rises herself and looks at me for what feels like ages._

" _You just kissed me." She began._

" _Because to me you're beautiful." I reply. "I've felt like that since the day we-"_

 _Before I finish, she pins me to the threshold and finishes what I started. The song blasts into the night as our lips lock. For this moment, there is no club, no Tangerine to watch over, no gang, no kid to pick on. We're the only two in the world and we love every minute of it._

"I just want to think that if life were different, and we weren't a couple of washed up ex-cons, we still would have met and you'd still love me."

"I do. Sweetheart, you know I do and I'm so, so sorry that this is all I can provide for you." He said. "I know that we've had to live on the fuzzy end of life's lollypop, making home in a shoebox, marrying on the fly and chaperoning a high school dance on our special night. And it came to me how to make it up to you, at least a little. I've been talking with Fr. Stavastniuk and after Liturgy, he is willing to do a vow renewal service for us and a catered luncheon in lieu of coffee hour."

Blythe's eyes lit up.

"Oh Darling." She squeals throwing him in embrace.

"I wanted it to be a surprise." He replied. "My gift for the two of us."

Blythe smiled.

"What?"

"You won't be able to say that for long."

It took Wally a while but it wasn't until he saw her beaming smirk that it slowly dawned on him. He stopped dead in his tracks as if struck by a bolt of lightning and began to frantically and quizzically run his fingers through the flesh on his wife's abdomen.

"Blythe…you're…"

With tears of joy in her eyes she takes her husband's hand and whispers "yes."

"How, we…you…"

"Remember that girl from the high school who got pregnant, and you were helping her in not dropping out and finding an adoptive family?"

Wally nodded. Slowly catching on as he looked over his wife's face beaming with maternal pride over this new chapter in their lives.

"She came to me today...and had an idea for this loving couple here in the city..."

Wally put his finger to his wife's mouth and breathed a heavy but happy sigh; true part of him was thinking about how their apartment barely had enough room for them, let alone another body. But when all was said and done, he looked optimistically at the hands that would one day hold their son or daughter and attempted to spin Blythe around in his arms. Sensing his struggle, she laughed and spun him.

"Now there's one thing I want to do before the night ends." He told her. "Hey Tim!"

"Yeah?" said the young man in his mid-twenties manning the deejay equipment.

"Remember that song I was telling you about earlier?" He asked.

"Oh!" he said. "Ladies and Gentlemen…or those of you left, this one goes out to Wally and Blythe Carrington. A first wedding dance many years in the making. Happy anniversary to the two of you."

Four drum machine beats blast from the speakers and the song begins proper. Blythe's smile grows into an excitable gawk as the song kicks into full swing.

 _I know you thought  
I was that broke-back  
that you saw  
we don't look the same _

"The song we fell in love to." She squealed.

"Then I assume this dance is mine to take Mrs. Carrington?"

 _how many times  
did you call when it was late  
and use another name?_

As the last of the tables were folded up, the final pieces of confetti swept into the trashcans, and the overhead lights of the gym were flipped on, Wally and Blythe held each other in their arms and shared the moment. For two minutes and forty-four seconds, the clock spun back two and a half decades for the both of them. He, with his curls and mesh muscle tee, she dressed to kill with hair permed and teased to perfection. They were young, filled with promise, and in possession of a fresh chance at life.

 _an incredible fool  
you've been  
and when you went  
to the place where you  
were born_

Once again, they're the only two in the world and loving every minute of it.

 _it was a beautiful house  
I saw but there was  
no-one_

 _no not a soul around._


	5. Dodger

_The only thing you got going in your favor young man is that it's a Friday night. You BETTER be home before MIDNIGHT. It's going to rain something awful._

Dodger had sent the text to his son half an hour ago, already past curfew, to his chagrin it remained unread. The rain not only continued to fall, but intensified within the hour. The 11 O'clock news blared from a vintage wood-panel 10" television sitting in the corner of his store office, but all and all it was just background noise for the boyish looking man as he peers out the window of his store; sighing as the pitter-patter of precipitation is broken by a thunderclap.

Something was up with Dawkins lately that Dodger couldn't put his finger on. It all began with little weird things like when he started taking interest in the grooming goods that came into the shop and calling dibs on bottles of Old Spice and other manly shampoos. There also seemed to be a spring in his step and his outfit seemed cheerier. His grades didn't 'dip' per se, but the healthy mix of A's and B's showed more of the later of the two academic remarks. Lastly, and most recently, Dawkins had suddenly developed a penchant for staying out later and later on Friday nights.

The clock reads 11:15pm. Dodger sets his phone back in his office to charge when his eye catches a family photograph from years gone by. Upon seating himself closer to the television, he looks wistfully at the image before him. Clearly the man, but one could see he's a they. A kid on the way. A family on his mind. Living amidst the antiques was well and good when it was him and the Captain, maybe even alone, but not with a wife and kid. He felt like a king standing over that "Sold" sign near the two-story house in a suburb outside the city. But it's the hopeful and visibly pregnant young woman to his right that's kissing his cheek where his eyes turn to.

"Oh Alice, why did it have to be this way?"

 **(Dodger Flashback 1993)**

 _After spending years of astounding the masses as a magician and collecting trinkets, Captain Francis Antonio Manzini opened an antique store in a non-descript city to sell off some of the stuff he acquired from his world tours and provide him a sustainable retirement. He lived alone, save for me, a local urchin he took under his wing shortly after my attempt to rob him of a gold coin. Apart from a weird episode involving a trashcan, some local hoodlums, a teenage girl's fashion career, a bar of big-hearted bikers, and too many body fluids to count, life was rather pedestrian at the quiet little shop. Though we averaged five sales a week, Manzini was always quick to remind me that patience was a bitter vine but it bore sweet fruit._

 _The only question was when the harvest was to come._

 _That morning began like all the others; Captain Manzini sat in his chair bemoaning the contents of a box someone left on his stoop that morning._

" _A used pink bathrobe, rubbish. A 'rare' mint snow globe, feh! A Smurf TV tray, nasty little goblins."_

 _He rose himself and looked despondently out the window of his failing store. The neighborhood continued its plummet downhill and in time the customers stopped coming altogether. Adding to the Captain's consternation was that not only were they receiving more goods, but the criteria for what qualified as "antique" was getting looser and looser._

" _Why do I even do this anymore?"_

 _Suddenly, the bells on his door jingled and this well-dressed and wide-eyed man stepped past the threshold. He introduces himself as_ _Dr. S. Herbert Montague,_ _a museum curator specializing in African history and took special interest in a dashiki belonging to the tribal leader Um-Tuh-Tuh as well as a stuffed alligator and a couple of other odds and ends. In the coming weeks, he and other curators emptied out the store of its treasures. Ultimately Captain Manzini decides to truly retire to a senior's community in Florida. What remained of the store and all the secondhand crap with it is left in my two-decade old hands._

 _But it's the bored looking young woman roughly my age that followed behind him who catches my attention. She introduces herself as Alice Montague, niece of the doctor. It's almost uncanny how much we have in common. Both of us were orphaned at a young age, lived in the city, and found ourselves taken in by loving but eccentric distant relatives. Neither of us had many friends growing up and were burned by an adolescent crush gone sour; making romance a tough nut to crack for the other. But after almost three years, we figured each other out to such a point that one holiday season, I decided that this lovely little emerald ring that I squirreled away would look much better on her left hand._

 _The next year and a half felt like a whirlwind between marriage, pregnancy and finding a home. The search was difficult as Alice wanted nothing more to do with the city. At long last, the two of us come to be endeared by this little blue house at the end of the road that just went on the market. We were far enough away for her liking, but near enough that I could commute without much hassle. It was ours shortly before our fourth anniversary and with one trimester to go before Dawkins was to be born. He would have a home to come to, a chance for normalcy that neither of us had. And for that brief moment, life seemed magical, as cheesy as it may sound._

The dweebling chimes of Dodger's phone suddenly broke through the silence. He bolts up to answer his device.

"Dad, I just got your text." His son's voice says quickly and nervously through the other end. "We had no reception for the longest of times."

"Ok, ok, just tell me where you are."

"…"

"Son, I'm more worried than mad."

"The road got slick from the rain…and…I skidded and hit a divider before the exit."

"Oh no." Dodger yelped. "Tell me you're okay!"

"We're Ok!" His son began quickly. "…I mean, I'm ok. Just very shaken up is all. But yeah, I…it's raining so hard and the driver in front of us skidded, then we skidded and…I didn't want to hit him…the car is in one piece as well, luckily... (Dawkins sighs) … Once I got off the highway, the car was almost out of gas too. I'm getting ready to pull out of the station as we speak…"

"…"

"Are you mad?"

"Not…at you…You're safe and I'm grateful for that. Just tell me where you are and-"

"You know the Desert Moon Grille before the last exit onto the highway?"

"Ok. I know where that is. The gas station-"

"-across the street…I'm…I'm just... After everything… I just…need some food to calm my nerves. I should be home within the next hour."

"Understandable. I'm just relieved your safe. We'll take a better look at everything tomorrow. See you when you get back."

Dodger hung up his phone and resumed his place in front of the television. He lets out a relieved but resigned sigh and pats the picture of him and his wife as he gives the TV his undivided attention; oblivious to the silhouette of a woman exiting her car and hesitating at the door of his shop.

Outside the store, Tangerine stands under the awning of D's Bargains, her head swimming with emotions over what may or may not be behind that door. Peeking inside, she takes in the sight of Dodger sitting in a deflated manner watching the nightly news give way to some late-night comedy talk show. Grasping the knob of the door, Tangerine makes another attempt to knock before the sound of a passing car stops her. Rather than stop, it just continues towards its unknown destination; splashing through a puddle that has accumulated on the roadway. While looking across the street, she smiles sadly about how all those years ago, the space where she parked her five-year-old station wagon was the exact same spot she parked her convertible on her last visit to the shop.

 **(Flashback, Tangerine)**

 _Everything I worked for my whole life had burst into flames before my very eyes, and the worst part is how little it matters to me now._

 _Watching Dodger savagely wailing on Juice back at McBundy's struck me on a visceral level. All I had been doing was chasing a cliché; that of the starry-eyed little girl hustling her way out of the dead-end town she felt herself too good for. The kid who thinks "Don't Stop Believing" is their personal anthem. What the songs and movies don't tell you is that after a while the line between inspiration and desperation blur. Every soul has a price, and the final question becomes 'what's the cost of yours?' What strange bedfellows will you lay with? How will your dreams become someone else's meal ticket? Who will you discard and exploit?_

 _How does an apology make up for that?_

 _Spoiler alert: It doesn't._

" _Dodger!"_

 _His head still turned at the sound of my voice, but his face makes all the difference. It's…empty. There's just no way to say it. Just a blank slate with eyes is how I can best characterize the look he gives me. Though he emitted a silent and annoyed sigh, Dodger still comes to my car. Even his walk was listless._

" _I'm sorry." I begin._

" _Me too." He says emotionlessly._

" _Look…" I began while trying to keep myself from crying. "The fashion show was a big success…I mean…you're a hit!..."_

 _Who are either of us kidding? It was a fiasco; the store was trashed, the models were probably going to need_ _EONS_ _of therapy, and Dodger… he had been lied to, abused, molested and physically/mentally beat up; mostly at my hands. I pretty much gift-wrapped him to Juice as a sentient punching bag and sold the closest thing he had as friends to a glorified execution center._

"… _And these clothes…they're not mine."_

" _They are now."_

" _Look." I begin again after composing myself. "Maybe we can be friends…maybe we can just do fun things together…"_

" _No thanks." He says with finality before heading back to the shop. "I don't think you're pretty anymore."_

 _Yeah, I got burned by a fifth grader that night. It was a new low and I deserved it._

 **(Present day)**

"Oh, grow up Goddamnit, you got a daughter to find." She hisses furiously to herself while determinately knocking on the door.

"That was quick." Dodger mutters to himself while bracing towards the door. Instead, time seemed to stop and turn backwards at the sight of his harried former flame standing at the threshold of his store. Roughly three decades of repressed memories bought Dodger back into the shoes of that middle school boy realizing he had been led around on a leash of his hormones. But before he could utter a word, Tangerine shoved her hand on the door and quickly blurted out the reason for her appearance.

"Shebetterbehere."

"What?"

"Please tell me Rosa is here." Tangerine repeated slowly. "It's past her curfew."

"Why on earth would she-"

Before Dodger could finish, Tangerine pulled out a business card for the shop. Scrawled on the top corner in a handwriting the father could only recognize as his son's were the words 'call me sometime.' The ice had clearly been broken. Loath as he was that after all this time she had come back, this was a whole new ballgame. With a sigh, Dodger ushers her into the shop and offers her something to warm herself.

After making herself comfortable on a novelty stool shaped like a human foot and shaking her hair out, Tangerine took note of her surroundings. D's Bargains was clearly a far cry from the old magician's curio shop of yore. It was better organized and seemed much larger in terms of space because of it. But instead of Egyptian sarcophagi and old-timey scuba helmets, the store was littered with more contemporary items such as home entertainment systems, gently used toys, a bicycle helmet which advertised some soft drink, a paintball gun, and a shelf of movies on both VHS and DVD. She picks up a worn out Draculaura doll which had been sitting on the table and fiddled with it.

"You think he ever sells any of this crap?" She asked the plaything rhetorically.

"Patience is a bitter vine Tangerine, but it bears sweet fruit." Dodger answered as he reentered the room with two cups of hot cocoa. "Now tell me, what on earth this is all about."

"My daughter has been seeing your son Dawkins." She replied.

Dodger spits his cocoa back and coughs. He shoots an astounded look at Tangerine which cuts her off before she can continue telling her story.

"First of all, my son is out with friends to see that Beat Farmers reunion concert. Secondly, how on earth could you or she possibly know my son?"

" _I_ only know of him," She replied. " _Rosa_ was partnered with him for a geology assignment back when they attended middle school. I recall him coming over a few times for homework. They lost touch until she went to that dance with her friends."

"And why on earth should I believe you?" He replied. "If memory serves me correctly, you don't exactly have a good track record with honesty."

Tangerine ignored Dodger's barb. After placing the card on the table, she took another sip of cocoa.

"Tell me, has your son been acting different lately?"

"Define different."

"Well, say you expected certain behaviors from your child, like…solid grades, a religious adherence to a curfew on those rare times they go out, or…ambivalence towards the opposite sex despite pressure from their circle of friends."

Tangerine takes another sip of her drink.

"Then one day you peek in her room and you find on her cork board a business card to some thrift store with an invitation to chat. Little by little things start to click; sudden interest in classes she would once rather eat garbage than sit through, a running allowance tab that somehow always seems to grow around the weekend-"

"-An increased interest in personal hygiene and your old car too." Dodger continued. "Son of a witch!"

"Don't feel too bad, you don't have a good track record for picking up subtlety." She replied with a touch of condescension.

"As fun as all this is, Dawkins is out in this weather at that Desert Moon place all the kids seem to like because of that accident on the highway." Dodger said as he grabbed his coat. "And Rosa is most likely with him."

"The one that used to be the Toughest Bar." Tangerine said with a jump.

"Ugh! And my good car is in the shop too." Dodger said frustratedly. "Um…"

Tangerine let out a sigh as she fished her keys out from the pocket of her coat. The faint beeping of her car unlocking answered his quandary.

"Hop in."

 **(Desert Moon Restaurant)**

The two teenagers sat stoked in a little window side booth as they attempted to calm themselves as best they could after their brush with death. While Dawkins twitched nervously at every car that seemed to pull into the parking lot, Rosa by contrast was a lot more withdrawn. Instead she just sipped her tea, munched listlessly at her chips & guac, while mumbling about and tracing her fingers along the graffitied inscription on their table: _August 01, 1981. J. Royce, B. Thompson, W. Carrington_.

"Wha?" Dawkins said with a jump. "Oh, Rosa. You feeling ok?"

"I'm fine Dawkins." She said. "I really had a great night with you at the concert. I'm just…"

"Just?"

"Excuse me." She calls out to a passing employee as he sweeps the floor. "I know this is a long shot but what can you tell me about this table."

"Well, we at Desert Moon feel it's our social responsibility to make/obtain our furniture from recycled wood." The employee responded. "As for _this_ table. I seem to recall hearing from a friend of mine that it came from wood used in a pool table back when the establishment was some grimy biker bar."

"Thank you." Rosa replied before taking another bite of her meal.

Dawkins gave a dumbfounded look at his date before she continued.

"Remember when I said that mom made all those clothes my friends and I wore for the dance back in December?" Rosa asked as Dawkins nodded. "It turns out that mom apparently wanted to be a hot-shot fashion designer back when she was around our age."

"Okay…"

"I kinda figured something was up when we were going through the clothes and this one box in particular seemed to set her off. It turns out that she kept all these journals before I was born."

"Here's where it gets interesting." Rosa continued as she gestured for Dawkins to sit next to her. "Sometime around 1986, mom was outside Ultraviolet where she crossed paths with this cheesy thug named Juice and his cronies. For a cut of the profit from her sales, they'd deal with out-of-line customers and convince night club owners to look the other way on their 'no soliciting' policy."

She points to the names of each person carved on the table.

"See, Juice's given name was Julius Royce. And his goons were B. Thompson and W. Carrington-"

"-who later became Blythe and Wally from school and the community center." Dawkins finishes in intrigue. "It's no secret they were ex-gang members, but it's so weird that they knew your mom."

"But wait, there's more." Rosa says. "Apparently mom's journals also make mention of some kid named Dodger who worked at an antique store near where she lived and had this massive crush on her too."

Dawkins spits out his drink and begins to cough vehemently at Rosa's revelation. His episode causes some heads to turn and a passing cashier to rush over with a fistful of napkins. As he finally finds his voice and wipes up the mess, the flabbergasted young man implores his girlfriend to keep telling her story.

"My dad? Your mom?! How? He never told me about this! Then again, we never really discussed girls after everything with mom, but…I can't believe this! How much did-"

"So far?" Rosa said. "I just finished the entry she wrote after this fight broke out over your dad giving mom some trinket from the curio shop and sneaking a whiff of her hair in the process. Juice had him dragged into a sewer after a trashcan fell off the shelf and started leaking some odd green goop on the floor…"

 **(Tangerine's Car)**

Whatever ice broke between Dodger and Tangerine in the store refroze with a vengeance once the two of them hit the road. Every now and then, they would share the same awkward glances of delinquent children waiting to be seen by the principal. As the car idled in traffic with only the radio and faint rainfall serving as background noise, the woman emitted a frustrated sigh.

"I've failed."

Dodger looked upward at Tangerine confusedly.

"All my life…failure after failure. It's fifteen minutes until midnight on a Friday and I'm collecting my daughter knowing damn well she's been lying to us for months. It's all because of that dance. I should have burned all those damn clothes when I had the opportunity, and my journals which I'm all too _sure_ she's pawed through. She'd have nothing for that stupid little dance that started all this."

"So, you kept them? All this time?"

"The clothes? Yeah. Not all of them mind you." Tangerine continued. "I incinerated the truly unsalvageable duds in a back alley-which became ashes in a matter of seconds. A few of them could be saved with just a bit of TLC and time, but who would want them…myself included if we're being frank. So, I just shoved them all in an attic."

"That's kinda sad really. As much as what you've done was ugly, you did make some good clothes…that is before you, Juice and the others stole the rest for the McBundy's show."

"And after that I couldn't bring myself to stitch again." Tangerine said. "Even without the guilt of it all, word traveled fast after the show as to what I did. The crowds dwindled down to fifty a night. Twenty-two a night. Less than ten a night. Without Juice to cow them, the club management began to enforce their no soliciting rule, all too happily I might add. The end really came when a bunch of whiny flannel-wearing kids from Seattle released an album, and then…"

"And then what?"

"I had Rosa, that's what. Well, not as quickly as all that; you know the story- girl goes to college, girl meets boy, boy and girl have one drink too many and baby makes three. After barely graduating, the three of us made a home out in the suburbs."

"And what does her dad have to say about all of this?"

"Not a whole hell of a lot since he left the picture eight years ago." Tangerine snapped back. "Apparently being the mother of his child wasn't enough to keep him from creeping around online. The bastard didn't even make an attempt to apologize after I called him out on it; it was just 'Yeah, I'm not happy so I cheated. Tootles!' It's just been her and I since then."

Tangerine let out a defeated sigh as Dodger apologized.

"I failed." She began to sob. "I failed as a fashion designer, a college student, a wife and now a mother-"

"If you failed, then what does that make me?" Dodger replied. "At least you've tried, and seemed to succeed at salvaging something out of your relationship…I was so busy taking care of that shop that I didn't realize what was going on under my roof. And even then…"

 **(Dodger Flashback 2003)**

 _Captain Manzini had always been one to stretch the truth; he claimed to remember a time when bad and good was black and white, before some damn fool invented gunpowder and a bigger damn fool split the atom. But I always knew this as the hyperbole of a world-weary and cynical old man._

 _But then came that one spring morning when they found him wandering around the facility's dumpster calling out for a series of ghoulish and alliterative creatures: Valerie Vomit, Foul Phil, Greaser Greg. The situation would come to be one that repeated itself time and time again. The straw that broke the camel's back was when he tried to make peace with a lost alligator that had wandered by the pool. The tests came back that he was suffering from a severe case of dementia. I'm told that either I take him in for the sake of his own mental health, or start looking into nursing homes. As much as I wished it not to be true, when I talked with him over the phone, he kept mentioning the kids, the fashion show, and Tangerine as if it all had occurred yesterday. I knew what had to be done._

 _Little by little, the situation takes its toll on Alice. As far as she was concerned, he was just another mouth to feed. Medical expenses began to eat at our savings and his grip on reality got looser and looser as the days passed. In hindsight, I should have seen coming the actions she was to embark upon in the end; her disposition was never the sunniest, even when we were dating. When the chips were down though and she really began to think about it, there was always something in life that seemed too beautiful to throw into the abyss. But with each horrendous row, each extra hour we pulled at work, or each milestone we missed in Dawkins' life, the burden became too much for both of us._

 _I'll never forget the call I got at work that day. Alice told me that she would be willing to take Captain Manzini to a doctor's appointment that day, as an attempt to make up for a particularly nasty fight we had the night before. What I didn't know was that she had also planned to cut the breaks. I put down the phone and stare down at the table. Looking back, I should have seen that while Alice said she was okay with taking in Captain Manzini, her face was telling a different story. The way she said 'fine', as if she was talking to a child she just wanted out of her hair for five minutes, is an image that will always be with me._

 _Things fell apart after that. We couldn't afford to live in the house both financially and emotionally, so I moved us back into that crummy little apartment above the store. Dawkins shut down shortly after that, big time. And I…I was too busy swan diving into my work to notice. Maybe I had good intentions in the beginning; claiming that I was doing all this to provide for him. But…one lie compounded into another lie and here we are now._

Tangerine looked back at Dodger shell-shocked by his story. Traffic had begun to loosen up and they were on their way again to Desert Moon.

"I'm so sorry Dodger. Truly I am."

"Me too. But what can we do from here?"

He gestured to the orange and purple lettered road sign that stood out amidst the others competing for the attention of a hungry passerby.

"We got two kids bonded together in education, age, a love of 1980s nostalgia and a well-deservedly shattered sense of respect for us as parents." Dodger continued. "They lied to us, yes, but can you say we set a good example of transparency for them to follow? There's only one choice for us, face the music. We tell them about the show, the gang, the state home, and of course, the kids."

"Right." Tangerine replied.

With the car parked, Tangerine and Dodger made their way to the eatery. From the front window, they could make out the silhouettes of two teenagers engaged in a friendly but animated conversation.

"and 3…2…1…" they mutually thought upon opening the door.

 **(Desert Moon Restaurant)**

"Oh my God." Dawkins said. "Look who just pulled up."

Rosa takes a break from researching Juice's bio to see Dodger and her mother strolling towards the door.

"Well, here we go." She said putting her phone down. "we get answers in 3…2…"

Dodger and Tangerine had barely passed the entrance way when the inquisition began.

"Rosa, I'm so glad you're safe. Dawkins too."

"Hello mother." Rosa replied with facetious glee. "I just had a nice dinner; nachos, a fajita and a cold cup of _Juice!_ "

"Well dad, looks like we have a similar taste in women."

"Dawkins…"

Rather than respond to his father's pleading, the young man pressed his face into a puss and retreated to his phone while Rosa and Tangerine continued to argue.

"Honey, I know I should have said something…"

"You who'd never let me date until I was thirty went out with a hoodlum?"

"I didn't want you making the same mistakes I did."

"Assault, theft, possible drug dealing or smuggling, while _my_ dates were shown the door if they didn't wear a collared shirt."

Sensing that they had begun to become a spectacle. Dodger finally whistled; bringing the entire restaurant to a standstill and a wave of embarrassment over all. Even Dawkins looked up from the noise.

"I'm sure everyone has a lot of questions." He said sitting down. "So, let's all just take a seat while Tangerine and I start at the beginning…"


	6. Epilouge

Tangerine eventually went back to sewing 80's themed clothes and selling them online. She's not blowing up the fashion world, but her brand has a loyal enough following on Etsy to make it worthwhile. She also started hosting a first-timers sewing class with her daughter.

Dodger sold D's Bargains to the city's Russian Orthodox Church and used the money to buy back the house he and Alice had all those years ago. As part of their stipulation, D's now also carries first-hand Tangerine products (the only non-online place that officially does so) in addition to second hand goods.

"Father" Wally and "Matushka" Blythe Carrington quit their jobs in the city upon the former's acceptance into seminary. Upon ordination, he succeeded Fr. S. as pastor of the city's cathedral. By all accounts, their son Rodney is nothing short of an angel.

Dawkins and Rosa are what young people call #endgame and have a better relationship with their parents.


End file.
